Secretaries

For the last day of poetry month, something I love from Czeslaw Milosz about how it felt for him to write the stuff. 

Secretaries
I am no more than a secretary of the invisible thing
That is dictated to me and a few others.
Secretaries, mutually unknown, we walk the earth
Without much comprehension. Beginning a phrase in the middle
Or ending it with a comma. And how it all looks when completed
Is not up to us to inquire, we won't read it anyway.